


Tirren Phale Chapter 6 - Mission to Destiny: Part One [Foreign Mission].

by Megpie71



Series: Tirren Phale [6]
Category: Blake's 7
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-15
Updated: 2012-04-15
Packaged: 2017-11-03 16:15:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,155
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/383427
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Megpie71/pseuds/Megpie71
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>Liberator</i> encounters a ship circling in the middle of space... and things only get more interesting from there.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tirren Phale Chapter 6 - Mission to Destiny: Part One [Foreign Mission].

The exterior of the _Liberator_ was huge. A single human form was tiny in comparison, and as Tirren crawled along the edge of the external hopper feed, she felt almost like an ant. Replacing the various reagents which had been acquired at Delta Taurii Two was a long and exhaustive process, one which must usually take place while the ship was in dock. 

The suit was confining. She couldn't feel what her hands were touching, and she kept getting interference from the helmet at the edges of her peripheral vision. She felt trapped inside the cumbersome thing. But each time she looked away from the hull of the Liberator, she saw something even more terrifying – open space, all around her. Indifferent, uncaring, and colder than the heart of the Federation. 

Only three more hand holds. Three more hand holds, and she'd be at the hatch, and safely inside the ship, not vulnerable. A glint of light catches her eye. Pursuit ships. She tried to speed up her progress, and in her haste, her grip slipped. Panicking, she tried to reach for the hatch doorway again, but this time, a shot from the pursuit ship glances off the hull near her hand. Grip lost forever, she watches in horror as the _Liberator_ disappears from view at standard by ten. As she spins, lost forever among the all-encircling blackness of space, she sees the smile on the face of Ayanna, as the girl from DTII turns the pursuit ship and leaves her there.

The last sensory input she has is the ringing in her ears as her air runs out...

~

Tirren startled awake, the terror of the nightmare still strong within her. It took a couple of seconds for her tired brain to register that the ringing hadn't been part of the nightmare, but was actually a call to the flight deck. The thought of it left her somewhat less than overjoyed. However, the battle discipline which had grown up on _Liberator_ since the events on Centero was inescapable. When a flight deck summons was made, it meant all crew had to respond, no matter what their status. Dragging herself out of her bed, she threw on some clothes and downed a stimulant to complete the waking up process. If she was lucky, Gan would have made up some kaf.

By the time Tirren had reached the flight deck, she'd come to the conclusion she wasn't lucky. Not only was Gan yawning (which indicated he hadn't made any kaf) but Vila was looking miserable, and even Cally was looking slightly annoyed. 

“I fail to see why you have summoned us all for such a matter, Blake,” Avon was saying. 

“And here I was thinking you were a scientist,” Jenna said.

“You have him confused with me,” Tirren said. “What's happening?”

Blake pointed at the display on the main screen. “It's been circling for at least fifteen minutes now. It's a mark three Galaxy class cruiser. I'm interested in finding out why it's doing that.”

Tirren nodded, and walked to her console, running a quick search on the data supplied by Zen. “It doesn't seem as though there is any external damage,” she said.

“According to the data banks, Galaxy Class cruisers are fitted with communicators. See if you can raise a voice contact, will you, Cally?”

Cally nodded, and headed up to the communications console. Vila heaved a sigh and muttered “I don't like this.”

“That's unusual,” Jenna said.

“Mock if you like,” Vila said, “but I can always sense danger.”

“Yes, even when there isn't any,” Gan said, grinning. Tirren nodded, and adjusted the point totals on the score sheet.

“Scan doesn't show any modification,” Avon said, looking over Tirren's shoulder at her console. “I think this is just what it seems to be.”

“An obsolete civilian cruiser,” Blake agreed. “Any luck, Cally?”

“No response on any channel,” she said. 

There was a moment's pause. “All right, I'm going across,” Blake said. “Will you come with me Avon?” The tech nodded. “Cally? Tirren?” The two women nodded in their turn. “Vila?”

“You don't need me to come over,” Vila protested.

“No, I need you to work the teleport,” Blake answered. 

“Oh. Right.” Vila left his console and made his way to the far side of the flight deck, following Avon, Cally and Tirren. As Tirren left the flight deck, she wondered what Blake was getting them into this time, and whether she'd ever get caught up on her missing sleep.

~

The disorientation of teleport was less this time, Tirren noticed. Possibly it was due to the reduced distance – _Liberator_ 's orbit over Delta Taurii Two had been at greater than one hundred spatials. They'd set the coordinates to arrive in the ship's mess hall cum recreation area, that being one of the larger open spaces, and one which would ensure that if there were people aboard, there was less likelihood of collisions. From her position behind Blake, Tirren couldn't see any sign of human occupancy.

Neither could any of the others, it seemed. “There you are,” Avon said. “Deserted.” The four of them spread out, looking over the debris of the room. 

“If they did abandon, they certainly did it in a hurry,” Blake said, completing a chess move for whoever was playing the black. Tirren looked over at a game of threedee checkers, which was in a similar state of incompleteness. 

“If the last of this mark is built half a century ago, this ship could have been here a very long time,” Avon said. 

“I doubt it,” Tirren said. “There's no dust. Even on a ship like _Liberator_ , any human presence creates dust. I have to keep clearing it out of the lab.”

“These space condition reports are recent,” Cally said, gesturing with the printout she was holding. “I agree with Tirren.”

“There's an odd smell,” Blake said. “Sort of sickly-sweet.”

“Could be the change of atmosphere,” Avon replied. “A different recycle system to that of the _Liberator_.”

“No, it's more than that,” Tirren said, frowning slightly. “I've run across it before, but I can't place it.”

“All right, shall we get on with it?” Blake asked. “You two go on down towards the stern, Cally and I'll work up towards the flight deck.”

“Right,” said Avon. “I'll just contact Vila.” Blake nodded and headed out the door. Avon lifted his bracelet, saying “Are you awake?” into the comms channel.

“No,” came Vila's voice in reply. Avon grinned.

“That's what I thought,” he said. “It's very quiet here. If it should get noisy, I'll be in touch.”

“Okay,” Vila said, cutting the communication. 

Avon turned to Tirren. “Let us go then, shall we? I believe the communications section is this way.” 

Tirren nodded, following Avon out of the mess area. She'd managed to download an approximate floor plan of the ship to her palmtop, as well as a précis of the information about this particular mark of Galaxy class cruiser. There was also a computer link between the palmtop and Zen, which should prove useful in an emergency, she hoped. 

The communications centre looked a mess. There was a young man sprawled over a console which looked to be in considerable disarray. Tirren rushed over to check on him. There was still a strong pulse, and he was breathing, but unconscious.

“He's alive,” she said, looking over at Avon. Avon was looking over the circuit boards. 

“It looks as though he was performing some kind of maintenance,” he said. “I wonder why?”

Tirren brought out her map. “There's some crew quarters down the corridor a way,” she said. “Shall we check there?” 

Avon nodded, and gestured for Tirren to precede him out of the room. She led down the corridor, walking cautiously, gun drawn. Avon was following her, showing just as much caution as she was, if not more. 

The first cabin contained a couple of male crew members. From the position they were found in, it was likely they'd been caught in the early stages of something private by whatever it was that knocked them out. “No trauma,” Tirren said. “Just out like a light, the pair of them. Same as the other one.”

“Is it possible they were drugged?” Avon asked. 

“Anything's possible,” she replied. “I'm just trying to think of what might have been used. Let's try the next cabin.” 

The next cabin they checked contained a middle-aged man, slumped in a chair. Again, there were no signs of trauma, although in Tirren's thoroughly unprofessional judgement as the _Liberator_ 's medic, he was going to have the grandmother of all backaches when he awoke. 

“Whatever it is,” she said, “it was most likely to have been delivered by air.” She gave a yawn. Damn. That stimulant she took earlier must be wearing off. She looked across at Avon, catching him in the middle of covering up a yawn as well. Somewhere in her skull, a connection was waiting to be made between the various factors. Airborne. Knocked out. Tired. Sleepy....

There was a feeling of someone shaking her. Avon, it appeared. She shook her head, trying to clear it, clear away the mists of sleep. Avon was speaking to her, but she couldn't really understand what he was saying, couldn't really make out the sounds. Sounds. That was important. 

Of course! “Sonovapour,” she said, batting feebly at his hands. She stood and struggled her way to the small refresher unit the cabin was equipped with, and splashed some water on her face. The coolness of it refreshed her, and she made Avon splash his own face too, before they stumbled out into the corridor. The air there was slightly less cloying and heavy. She looked up. 

“Avon, there's sonovapour in the air supply,” she said.

“I know,” came another voice from behind her. Blake. “We found a couple. It must be coming from the filters.”

“Yes, well,” Avon said, still slightly muzzy himself, from the sound of things. “That should be ...” he paused for a quick look at Tirren's map, “this way.”

“I'll take a look about for any others,” Tirren said. “So far, that's a total of six, and according to the data, this type of ship needs a minimum of seven.”

The two men nodded, then set off toward the filtration plant. Tirren checked out the one remaining aft crew cabin, to find a single female occupant, fast asleep. If there were any other occupants of this drugged ship, they'd be down toward the flight deck. 

She'd just reached the one occupied cabin when she heard a thump, as though something were hitting the ground. It came from the direction of the flight deck, according to her map. Cally, she thought. She typed in a query to Zen about the effects of sonovapour on Auron physiology, and headed forward.

She paused in front of the door which, according to the map, led to the flight deck. Whoever the man on the floor was, it wasn't Cally, and from the look of his injuries and the blank stare, he wasn't suffering from the after-effects of sonovapour inhalation. She decided to check anyway. 

Cally put her head around the doorway to the flight deck as Tirren was checking for a pulse. “He's dead,” the Auron woman said. 

Tirren looked up, relieved to find Cally still alive and whole. “I'd have to agree. Very dead, and recently, too. Do you know who he was?”

Cally gestured at the room behind her, as Blake and Avon's footsteps sounded in the corridor. “I think he was the pilot.”

“Who's this?” Blake asked, spotting the corpse on the floor. 

“The pilot,” Cally said. “You'll need to see this.” She gestured for them to follow her onto the flight deck. 

The flight deck of the _Ortega_ was a tiny space, barely large enough for two before the console. With four of them in there, it was claustrophobic. Tirren and Cally found themselves manoeuvred to the far side of the console as Avon and Blake scanned the damage.

“Somebody was very thorough,” Cally said. “All this damage has jammed the main controls on a circular flight pattern.”

Tirren looked at the mess. “Can it be repaired?” she asked.

“That would depend on what their replacement stores were like,” Avon replied, not looking up from the catalogue of damage he appeared to be compiling. Cally, meanwhile, had been looking at the items scattered over the floor of the flight deck. One of them appeared to have caught her eye.

“Look at this,” she said, holding up something which to Tirren's inexperienced eye looked rather like a light box. There was something smeared on the overlay. Tirren took a closer look.

“It's blood,” she said. “He tried to write something.”

Avon looked up briefly, and gestured for the box. Cally handed it to him, and he glanced over the scrawled communication. “Five four one two four,” he said. “Whatever that might mean.”

“It could be important,” Tirren commented.

“It could be anything,” Blake said. “Call sign, transmission frequency, navigation index, anything.”

“But it is important,” Cally said. “He must have been dying when he wrote it.”

Avon opened his mouth, presumably to disagree, but whatever he was planning to say was cut off by the sound of screaming from outside. Tirren scrambled for the door, reaching it just ahead of Blake.

The screaming was coming from a small, blonde woman who appeared to have spotted the corpse of the pilot and been terrified. The shrieks had a strong note of hysteria to them, and the way the woman was cowering against the wall implied a certain amount of fear. However, when she continued to shriek like a banshee even as the four crew from _Liberator_ approached her, Tirren found herself wondering whether a more appropriate diagnosis wouldn't be just enjoyment of a novel situation.

“It is all right,” Cally said to the woman. “We won't hurt you.”

She kept shrieking. The shrieks had a penetrating quality to them, Tirren found herself thinking, and they resonated through her skull. This, on top of exposure to sonovapour, nowhere near enough sleep for the past few weeks, and a steady diet of nightmares, was enough to destroy any vestige of sympathy she might have had for the woman. She reached past Cally, turned the woman's face toward her, and gave her a solid slap on the cheek.

At least the screaming stopped. However, she found herself in a heap on the floor, with an ache in her jaw, spots dancing before her eyes, and questions about what had just happened floating through her head. These resolved themselves into an image of a rather tall, thin, gingery man standing over her with clenched fists. 

“Who're you?” she asked, feeling just a little groggy. 

“Whoever you are,” came Avon's voice from a point somewhere behind the man, “you're dead if you make another move like that.”

Tirren blinked, trying to clear her vision. “It's all right, Avon,” she said. “I think he misinterpreted my treatment of the woman.” She turned to look at the man. “She was hysterical. A slap is a very old treatment.” Tirren blinked again, shaking her head. “Ooh. Bad move,” she said, as a headache started to make its presence felt.

Cally came over to her side, peering at her. “Both of your pupils are the same size,” she told Tirren. “I do not think you have concussion.”

“I should hope not,” Tirren answered. She looked up at the man who had hit her. “I think the headache is quite enough to be going on with for now.” The man looked a trifle shamefaced, to Tirren's unspoken satisfaction. 

“I thought... there was Rafford dead on the floor, and you were hitting Sara. What was I supposed to think?” The stranger had started contrite, but the speech ended defensive. Avon gave him a prod with the business end of his gun. 

“Stop that, Avon,” Blake cut in. He turned to the stranger. “My name is Blake, and these three are part of my crew. We came upon your ship circling, and came to investigate. When we came aboard, everyone was knocked out by sonovapour. We found your pilot dead. I think we'd be better off continuing this discussion with everyone else present. Could you gather your people and we'll meet in the recreation room?”

To everyone's surprise (including his own) the stranger nodded. He took the woman by the arm, and led her off. Blake breathed a sigh. “Right. I'll go and speak with them. Cally, keep an eye on Tirren. Avon, see whether that control panel is repairable. All of you try to avoid assaulting any more of the crew of this ship, all right?”

Tirren gave a weak grin. “I can't guarantee anything for the rest of them, but I think I've done enough for one day.”

Blake smiled back, then headed off in the direction of the recreation room. Waving off Cally's assistance, Tirren got to her feet, and followed the others into the control deck. It took a very few minutes to realise her presence was not only unnecessary, it was a nuisance – there wasn't room for a third person without them getting underfoot or in the way.

“I'll go to the recreation area,” she said. “Blake might need some help.”

As she left the room she heard Avon muttering something about that being Blake's default state. Another thing to update the score sheet with.

~

When Tirren reached the recreation room, she came in to find Blake asking questions of the older man she's seen slumped in a chair in his cabin. From his expression, he not only had a headache to rival her own, but also the grandmother of all backaches, as predicted.

“I'm sorry,” he was saying, “I just don't know. I haven't any answers to your questions. All I remember was I went to my quarters and fell asleep in a chair. At least, that's where I was when I woke up a few minutes ago and found all this going on.”

“Yes, I know exactly how you feel,” Blake said. Tirren found herself wondering how much of the statement was meaningless platitude, and how much was truth. Since she'd been on _Liberator_ , she'd heard a lot about what had happened to Blake in those years between his show trial and his exile to Cygnus Alpha. She sometimes found herself wondering whether he resented the people who'd jolted him out of the comfortable little existence the Federation had found for him. 

“Just relax, and try to remember,” Blake said to the older man. He turned to the couple Tirren could remember finding together in their cabin. “Where were the rest of you when all this was going on?”

“What gives you the right to ask?” demanded one of them. He was rather harsh-faced, wearing the kind of expression which made Tirren think of one of the more awkward bureaucrats she'd found herself dealing with during her university days. 

“You need our help,” Blake said.

“Do we?” the harsh-faced man retorted.

“We do.” The comment had come from the older man. It seemed to work.

“I was off duty,” the harsh-faced man said with some reluctance. “I share quarters with Pasco.”

“We were both there,” chimed in a smaller, baby-faced man, who must have been Pasco. “Routine rest period.” 

Tirren looked over at Pasco. From what she'd seen, they hadn't been planning on getting any rest for at least a quarter of an hour. Pasco winked back at her. She grinned.

“And your name?” Blake asked Pasco's shipmate.

“Sonheim,” the harsh-faced man answered, seeming uneasy. He'd seen the interchange between Tirren and Pasco, and it appeared to have disturbed him. “We must have slept through it all, as Doctor Kendall did.”

Ah, so the older man was a Doctor Kendall, Tirren thought. So either this was a scientific expedition (which would put Sonheim and Pasco at the level of laboratory technicians, if they weren't hired crew) or some kind of academic transit vessel. Interesting. But this Dr Kendall had enough clout to silence Sonheim, so there was obviously a relationship there – she presumed it was employer and employee.

Blake turned to look at the youngish man Tirren and Avon had found in the communications centre. He was tall and thin (most of them were – it seemed to be almost a type) and starting to go bald. He seemed diffident in manner as he answered. 

“I was in the communications centre trying to make repairs. I remember feeling very drowsy, that's about all.” He paused for a moment, then continued. “And my name's Grovane. That's all.”

Tirren added the information to the picture she was starting to build up in her mind of the group. The woman who'd been screaming in the corridor looked across at Blake. Awake and conscious, she looked small and timid, although Tirren wasn't so certain. She'd noticed the woman's eyes darting around the room when she thought nobody was looking at her. The woman was clutching at the hand of the man who'd punched Tirren – there appeared to be a pair-bond there. 

“Mandrian and I were together,” the woman said. “The first thing I knew was when I came out into the corridor and saw Rafford.” 

Blake had turned to the final player in the little drama, a calm, self-possessed woman who looked to be somewhere between Grovane and Dr Kendall in age. “And you?” he asked.

“I am called Levett,” she said.

“Did you see or hear anything,” Blake returned, sounding irritated.

“I was asleep,” Levett replied, “in my quarters.”

“Would anyone else have seen you there?” Blake asked.

“Why should anyone else bother?” came a not-so- _sotto-voce_ comment from Sonheim. 

“All right,” said Pasco, sounding annoyed. “There's no need for that.”

Levett appeared to have heard the comment (as she no doubt was meant to) and turned to face Sonheim. “There are worse things than being alone, Sonheim,” she said, unruffled. “Being with you is one of them.”

“We're getting away from the point a little, aren't we?” Mandrian said, seeming uncomfortable with the situation. Tirren speculated that the interplay between Levett and Sonheim was a long-term thing. Maybe the woman had rejected Sonheim's advances – it had the feel of a personal grudge on his side.

“You were all knocked out by Sonovapour,” Blake said. “Now some time in the last twelve hours, your pilot was murdered. And since you're the only people here on board, then I presume -”

“No we're not,” Mandrian interrupted. “Dortmunn isn't here.”

“Who is Dortmunn?” Blake asked, in a voice that indicated his patience was starting to wear thin. 

“Flight engineer,” Mandrian answered, sounding as though that should be obvious. 

“Well, where is he?” Blake asked. A justifiable question, to Tirren's mind. After all, if Mandrian had been sent to assemble the crew and couldn't find this Dortmunn, why hadn't he mentioned this before?

“I want him found,” Doctor Kendall piped up. “Mandrian, search the whole ship. He's got to be here somewhere.”

Mandrian nodded. “Sonheim, Levett,” he said, gesturing to the two of them. Tirren stepped over to where Blake was under cover of the bustle of everyone getting up. 

“I'll head up to the flight deck,” she whispered, “and give a briefing to Cally and Avon.”

“Good idea,” Blake said. “I'll bring Doctor Kendall along soon. I can probably give you about five minutes – will that be enough?”

Tirren nodded, and ducked out the door.

~

The run up to the flight deck had started Tirren's head pounding again, and left her feeling a bit ill. She decided to run a check over herself when she got to the Liberator – it felt as though concussion was a greater probability than she'd thought. When she got inside the small space, she found Avon pulling a panel apart to determine the level of damage. There was already a small pile of smashed components accumulating near his feet.

“What happened?” Cally asked.

Tirren looked at the pair of them. “It'll have to be short – Blake's going to be bringing their man in charge here soon. Basically, this looks like a scientific vessel. The man in charge is a Doctor Kendall. The one who hit me is Mandrian. Crew appear to be Grovane, who's communications; Rafford, the late pilot; and Dortmunn, flight engineer – he's missing at the moment, so they're off searching; a small chap name of Pasco; and probably a woman called Levett. There's also a man called Sonheim, who appears to answer to Dr Kendall, and then there's that shrieking woman, whose name we still don't have.”

“Sara,” said Avon, without looking up. “Mandrian mentioned it earlier.” The tech frowned at the circuit board in his hands. “Well, there's nothing I can do with that,” he said, sounding annoyed. “It'll have to be replaced.”

There was a tap on the door, and Blake came in followed by Doctor Kendall. “What's the situation?” Blake asked.

“Well, we can fit some of it back together, but there are a lot of components that will have to be replaced,” Avon said, looking up at the two of them. 

“Can it be made operational?” Doctor Kendall asked. There was a higher level of anxiety in his voice than would be expected, Tirren thought. What would make the man worry so?

“The interesting thing is,” Avon said, without having apparently noticed the doctor's question, “as far as I can see, that all this damage was done but for one purpose: to prevent the orbiting flight pattern which you are now in from being altered.”

“I don't understand any of this,” Doctor Kendall said. “First the trouble with the communicators, and now this sabotage.”

“What happened with the communicators?” Cally asked.

“Just after we started back on the return trip there was a burnout in the main circuits,” Doctor Kendall said. “Grovane, the communications officer, thought the damage couldn't be accidental. Apparently all the safety circuits were still intact. They'd been bypassed somehow. It's still not working.”

“This man Dortmunn they're looking for,” Blake asked. “Could he have any reason to sabotage you?”

“None that I can think of,” Doctor Kendall replied. “He's a fine man and a first-class engineer.”

There was a chirp from somewhere. Doctor Kendall fumbled in a pocket and produced a small communicator. 

“Kendall,” he said.

Mandrian's voice was distorted by the comms system, but audible. “We're in section nine, Doctor. You'd better come down. There's something you should see.”

Blake looked at Doctor Kendall. “Lead the way,” he said. The doctor nodded his assent, and led the pair of them out of the flight deck.

Avon, meanwhile, had been removing a component from the console with a great deal of care. “This is a pity,” he said, holding it up for inspection.

“What is it?” Cally asked. It appeared to be a white crystalline globe. There were clear fracture lines running through it.

“The Ison crystal,” Avon said. “Even if we should get the ship operational, it'll be blind. With this fractured, there isn't a chance of outside vision.”

“Well, that rather puts the kibosh on them returning to their destination,” Tirren said.

“Not necessarily,” Avon replied. “The navigation computers are still intact, and can accept programs. However, they'd be confined to sub-light speeds by the broken crystal.”

“I'd better let Blake know,” Tirren said. “We may wind up with some passengers on _Liberator_.” She reached toward her bracelet's communicator.

“No,” Avon said. “I don't want to have a murderer on board.” 

Cally was frowning slightly. “Avon has a point,” she said. “Whatever else has happened, someone put the sonovapour into the air supply, and someone killed the pilot.”

There was a chime from their communicators. “Blake here. We've just found one of the life rockets has been launched. Looks as though Dortmunn might have left the ship that way.”

“Do we know why?” Cally asked.

“Dr Kendall has a theory. Tirren, I'd like you to come to his quarters with me.” 

“Why me in particular?” Tirren asked.

“Kendall's a biologist. I'm not. You're the one with the best chance of being able to tell whether he's being truthful.” 

“I'll be there.” Tirren ended the communication, and turned to the others. “I still think we should tell Blake about the damaged crystal, and at least offer the services of the _Liberator_.”

Avon looked at her for a moment, then nodded. “I'll finish up my assessment here, and see what's possible, then head down to Kendall's quarters. Try to keep the two of them there until I arrive.”

Tirren nodded back. As she left the room, she heard the crash of another broken circuit board joining the pile of discards.

~

Section nine was closer to Dr Kendall's quarters than the flight deck, as Blake and Dr Kendall had already arrived, and were looking at a strange green item.

“Well, what is it?” Blake asked.

“It's an energy refractor, a neutrotope,” Kendall answered. Tirren gasped, bringing their attention to her. 

“There's only about ten of those in existence anywhere,” she said. “They're phenomenally expensive.”

“What does it do?” Blake asked, looking confused.

Tirren thought for a moment. “Have you heard the old stories of the Philosopher's Stone – something that could turn lead into gold?” Blake nodded. “Well, a neutrotope is the biological equivalent. It's capable of changing the frequency of energy from a particular energy source over a wide area. They're very rare; the ore that provides the element which catalyses the reaction is only found on a couple of planets, and the yield from it is minute. Otherwise the Federation would be using them for terraforming everywhere. How did you get one?”

She looked to Doctor Kendall for an answer. “I'll explain,” he said. “I and my crew come from Destiny,” he pointed to a small sun on the star chart, “way out here on the edge of the galaxy.”

“Yes, I've heard of that,” Blake said. “It was colonised what, about a hundred years ago?”

“That's right,” Doctor Kendall replied.

“But you're still not members of the Federation,” Blake continued. 

“They've approached us, threatened, but we've resisted so far,” Kendall confirmed. “Ours is an agricultural economy. We've a small fleet of mercantile ships to trade with our nearest neighbours. Our people live well, but simply. Or at least they did.”

“What happened?” Blake asked.

“Toward the end of the last growing season, just as the main crop was coming into maturity, reports came in that the plants were dying – wilting and dying. It spread across both our continents with incredible speed. We estimated that in under a year there would be no living vegetation left on the planet.”

Tirren frowned. “That doesn't sound normal. Did you isolate the cause?”

“It was a fungal disease,” Kendall replied. “Identifying it was one thing, but destroying it... it was resistant to everything. In under three months, half the planet was buried in a covering of slimy white fungus. The stench was vile, and it was still spreading.”

“Do you have any samples?” Tirren asked. “I'd like to have a look at them.”

“You're an exobotanist?” Kendall queried. Tirren shook her head.

“No, a biochemist. But I've had experience with the Federation's bioengineering laboratories. No doubt you suspected outside interference?”

Kendall nodded. “Yes, but it was impossible to prove anything.”

“If you have some samples of the fungus, I might be able to find something. Certainly a fungus that's resistant to all known treatments sounds like a very clever piece of engineering, rather than a natural occurrence. I take it the neutrotope is to be used to alter the energy matrix from your sun?”

Kendall nodded again. “My experiments showed that radiation from our sun was deficient in certain specific wavelengths. The neutrotope will be mounted in a satellite, and should provide the necessary frequencies to kill the fungus. Getting it has bankrupted our economy and mortgaged our future.”

“Yes, well I can see why you were concerned that Dortmunn might have taken it,” Blake said.

Doctor Kendall gave a wry smile. “It's enough to tempt anyone. There are men who would betray their companions for a lot less.”

“What a cynical thought, Doctor.” They turned to see Avon standing in the doorway. Tirren gave him points for a good entrance, and wondered how long he'd been standing there listening. 

“But realistic, I'm afraid,” Doctor Kendall sighed.

“Cally and I have finished checking the damage,” Avon said, turning to Blake. “I can give you a fairly accurate assessment of the situation now. We can fit things together and we can make repairs.” 

There was a pause, long enough for everyone to hear an unspoken “but”.

“And?” Blake prompted.

Avon smirked. “There is, however, a problem.” He held up the damaged ison crystal. “I can find no indication that there ever was a replacement ison crystal in the stores for this ship. You are therefore flying blind.”

“How long will it take us to get to Destiny?” Doctor Kendall asked. 

“At sub-light speeds? Probably between five and six months, given your current space position,” Avon said. 

Doctor Kendall's face fell. “That will bring us home too late. We will have missed the planting season, and set things back a whole year.”

Tirren pulled out her palmtop, and tapped into the link with Zen. A few calculations later, she looked up. “I've just checked a couple of things, Blake,” she said. “According to Zen, _Liberator_ could cover the distance in about eighty-four hours, at standard by six. If we just pick up the crew of the _Ortega_ , we'll be able to drop them off in about four days and let them perform miracles.”

Blake looked thoughtful. “It's a possibility,” he said. He turned to Doctor Kendall. “What do you think?”

Kendall shook his head, reluctantly. “No. The crew of this ship are also co-owners of it. They wouldn't agree to abandoning it unless there was no other way.” 

“Just out of interest,” Tirren asked, “who are the crew members?”

“Pasco, Grovane, Levett, Dortmunn and Rafford,” Kendall replied. “Well, not Dortmunn or Rafford now, I suppose.”

“And the others?” Avon asked.

“They're my escort. It was agreed a small mission would be more discreet than a large delegation. Mandrian and Sonheim are government security men with a background in space flight; they could take crew positions without being noticeable.”

“And Sara?” Tirren asked.

“My secretary. She's recently pair-bonded with Mandrian.” He gave another smile. “This is their honeymoon.”

“Back to the point,” Blake said. “You need to get the neutrotope to Destiny in a time shorter than five months. We can do it in four days, but your crew won't abandon their ship. How about a compromise? We take the neutrotope back to the _Liberator_ , take it on to Destiny, then return for the rest of you?”

“That still means abandoning the ship, Blake,” Avon reminded him. “The repairs will take at least two days to complete, even if we work around the clock. Then they're left with a skeleton crew to fly the ship back to Destiny, if they don't crash into something first.”

“There are also political considerations,” Tirren said. “This whole business with the fungus smacks of Federation interference and blackmail. I'm sure they know exactly why this particular neutrotope was commissioned, and precisely how much trouble its loss would cause the people of Destiny. I've no doubt there's at least one pursuit ship waiting for them concealed behind a small planet.”

“We have to think of something,” Kendall said.

~

Twenty minutes later, they'd assembled everyone in the mess room. Avon was explaining the situation to the rest of the crew.

“When we're finished, you should have a ship that will navigate and get you back to Destiny. The problem is that without this,” he said, holding up the damaged ison crystal, “you will have to travel at sub-light speeds. I estimate that the journey will take you approximately five months to complete.”

There was a predictable uproar. “But that'll be too late,” Sonheim cried. “We'll miss the planting season.”

“Five months? It'll set us back a whole year,” Grovane chimed in.

Doctor Kendall allowed the crew to vent their anger. “When I heard the news, I was concerned as you,” he said. “A delay that long would be disastrous, but there is an alternative.”

“ _Liberator_ can make the journey in four days,” Blake said. He paused to let the information sink in. “What I've suggested is that Avon and Cally stay here and help you with your repairs. Tirren and I take the neutrotope to the _Liberator_ and on to Destiny, then come back to collect them.”

“No,” Mandrian said. “We can't do that. We can't just hand over the neutrotope to a passing stranger.”

“I agree,” said Sonheim. Tirren hid a grin. Even if she hadn't received the information on which crew members were part of Kendall's team and which weren't, she would have been able to guess by now. 

“We've been trusted with this mission,” Sonheim continued, “we can't simply forget our responsibility.”

“There are plenty of ready markets for the neutrotope,” Mandrian said. “If it were stolen and sold, a man could be wealthy beyond imagining. That thing is a temptation even for those of us with our homes, families and lives at stake.” He turned to look at the group from the _Liberator_. “You have nothing at stake, nothing to lose.”

“It is frequently easier to be honest when you have nothing to lose,” Avon commented.

“We also have nothing to gain by it,” Tirren said. “The only real buyer is either Destiny, or the Federation. I don't know whether you've checked the bulletins lately,” she continued, giving a grin, “but the Federation doesn't really like us for some reason.” She noticed Levett smiling at the rather grim joke. Ah, so there was one who knew the current situation outside the Destiny system. 

“The responsibility for the neutrotope belongs to all of you,” Blake said. “There is a risk that if you entrust it to me I may fly off never to be seen again. You have to weigh that chance against the effects a year's delay would have on the possibility of your planet's recovery. We've made the offer, the choice is up to you.”

Tirren winced. Now there was a wonderful way of gaining people's trust. 

“Remember that Avon and I will be staying,” Cally said. It appeared she agreed with Tirren's assessment of Blake's speech. “We will regard ourselves as hostages against Blake's return.”

“Well thank you, Cally,” Avon said, sounding disgruntled. “What a clever idea.” The sarcasm in his tone was thick enough to slice. Cally rolled her eyes upward. 

“You can bet your life on it,” Avon continued, in response to a telepathic comment of Cally's, Tirren presumed. “In fact, you've just bet both our lives on it.”

“Personally, I have no hesitation about accepting the offer,” Doctor Kendall said. “Delivery of the neutrotope is vital. And anyway,” he continued, sounding bitter, “after what's happened here, it may well be safer with Blake. However, we'll vote on it. Those in favour?”

Three hands raised straight away – the Doctor's, Levett's, and Grovane's. Pasco looked as though he wanted to raise his hand, but was restrained by Sonheim's glower. Mandrian stood up, glaring at the two crew members, as though he could intimidate them into changing their vote. As he turned away from Sara, she raised her hand as well, unnoticed by her partner. 

Doctor Kendall had noticed. “That's about four to three in favour. We accept gratefully.” 

Mandrian whirled to see Sara, still with her hand raised.

“Right, I'd like to get started right away,” Blake said. 

“Yes, of course,” Doctor Kendall agreed. “Sara, would you get the neutrotope, please?” 

Sara nodded, and left the room. Mandrian left at the same time, in a fit of high dudgeon. Tirren exchanged a look with Avon. They'd run over the security regime for the neutrotope with Doctor Kendall, and he'd said he was the only one with the key. Now it seemed as though Sara was able to open the safe as well. 

Doctor Kendall, meanwhile, was looking at the door where Mandrian had left the room. “Sorry,” he said to Blake.

“It's all right,” Blake said. “Natural reaction.” He turned to Avon and Cally. “Right, we'll get back to you as soon as we can. You're quite sure about volunteering to stay?” 

Cally nodded. “We must help these people.”

“Must we?” Avon queried. “Personally, I don't care if their whole planet turns into a mushroom. I shall stay because I don't like an unsolved mystery.” 

“You don't think Dortmunn and his life rocket are the answer?” Blake asked.

“No,” Avon replied. 

“Why not?” Tirren asked.

“There is something else that has to happen before it all begins to come together,” Avon said. Tirren nodded. That was her impression as well.

A small distraction was caused by Sara re-entering with the neutrotope casket. She handed this to Blake.

“You'd better give me your guns,” Tirren said to Avon and Cally. “If you're going to be hostages, you can't be armed, after all.” She waited while the two of them removed their gun belts, grinning at the poisonous look Avon directed her way. She could see why Vila enjoyed tweaking the computer tech so much.

Blake looked over at her as if to say “Are you ready?” She nodded. 

“Don't fail us,” said Doctor Kendall.

“We won't,” Tirren said, at the same time as Blake was saying “I won't.” Blake gave her an annoyed look.

“Vila, bring us up,” he said into his communicator. The _Ortega_ shimmered, shattered, and they were back on _Liberator_.

~

It wasn't to be expected, Tirren decided, that Vila would take things without question. However, his insistent questioning of Blake gave her a very good opportunity to sneak off to the medical section, and run herself through the diagnostic computer. She wasn't concussed, although it appeared she was running very close to the edge of it. 

As the checks were running, she felt _Liberator_ moving off, and decided the best place for her to head was the flight deck. After swallowing the painkillers the diagnostic computer had prescribed, she made her way down there.

She was just in time to hear Vila say, “Well, start at the beginning then.” She grinned. The thief's curiosity was predictable. 

“We're making a delivery,” Blake said. “I'll give you the details later.”

“Do you need me here?” Tirren asked. “Only I have those fungal samples, and I need to test them.”

“No,” Blake said. “You'll be in the lab?”

Tirren nodded. “I'll be reachable by comm, if you need me.” As she left, she could hear Vila harassing Blake, trying to get the details of their adventure. On reaching her lab, she dropped the small vial of the Destiny fungus Doctor Kendall had been able to supply her with (one of the last samples he had available) into the main analysis chamber. 

“Computer, I need full preliminary analysis, including planet of origin, and any indication of markers X, Zeta three, and obloid. Confirm with time to output.”

“Analysis will take between one and three hours,” came the voice of the lab computer. 

“Output results to screen two as they are received,” she said, settling herself before the terminal, and watching as the results scrolled down the screen. The initial findings were predictable – plant, fungal in nature – but as the results grew more and more detailed, she started making notes of further tests to be run on the sample. Once again, she found herself blessing whoever had designed _Liberator_ , for the laboratories appeared to be designed to provide rapid readout and analysis of new lifeforms, with the computers backed by a huge library of known organisms from throughout the galaxy. The sort of analysis she was asking the computers to perform now would take at least a week in any Federation laboratory, and even then it would be a rushed job. 

It was about two hours into the three hour expected output time that she was called to the flight deck. As always, the communicator chime interrupted her in the middle of a crucial piece of data analysis.

“Tirren?” Gan's voice came over the circuit, “you're needed up on the flight deck.”

“Why? Pursuit ships?”

“No. Meteor swarm. It's a big one. Scale nine, intensity twenty-seven, according to Zen. We need you on the detectors.”

“Give me a minute or two to lock down the lab.” Intensity twenty-seven in a meteor swarm meant a lot of collisions. The highest they'd been through so far was an intensity eight, and it had left Jenna shaken, Vila nauseous, and Avon furious with Blake for the rest of that day. It had also caused a noticeable dent in the power reserves. 

“Understood. Gan out.” The communication cut out, and Tirren started issuing orders to the laboratory computers regarding the lock down. The only positive thing she could see in the intensity of twenty-seven was that Zen's intensity scale was linear rather than logarithmic. The logarithmic measure was on the scale meter – which meant there wasn't likely to be a short way around the swarm. A scale nine swarm was one million times larger than a scale one, and meant the swarm covered a huge area. 

The thought occurred to Tirren that the _Liberator_ might have strayed into the birthing place of a solar system. The scientific data which could be accumulated from such an event would be amazing... providing, of course, that the ship survived it.

When she arrived on the flight deck to take her position, Vila was grumbling to himself, and he was already looking ill. Blake had taken up Gan's position at the rear console, with Gan in charge of ensuring the force wall remained active. Tirren jumped in behind her console, and directed a look at the scanners.

“Ay yi yi, there are a lot of very fast rocks there,” she murmured. She looked up at Jenna. “How long would a detour have taken?”

“Three hundred and thirty-six hours,” the pilot said. “Four times as long.”

“Are we able to get through this alive?” she asked.

“Zen says it's within the maximum design tolerance,” Blake said.

“Maximum design tolerance for Zen, possibly,” Tirren said. “I'm more worried about the maximum design tolerance for humans. Zen can take high accelerations with a lot less physical stress than most of us.”

“Look, we have to go through this,” Blake snapped. “We haven't a choice. We said we'd get that neutrotope to Destiny, and we're going to do that even if it kills us.”

“Oh thanks,” muttered Vila, unimpressed. 

~

There began a very long day, as they tried to rush through the meteor swarm in the quickest possible time. The detectors were soon swamped by the number of rocks, and the speed they were travelling at. It took a lot of computing power on Zen's part to track the vectors of all of them, and keep feeding that information to Jenna's console to allow for the tiny course corrections required. According to Jenna, the sheer mass of rocks out there was causing a field drag effect, which meant the _Liberator_ had to put more power into overcoming the pull of the swarm's rather undirected gravity in all directions to maintain a steady heading. Tirren found herself suspecting that her earlier hypothesis was correct. _Liberator_ had somehow strayed into a solar system in the making. The vector data she was getting from Zen confirmed this – there appeared to be a definite trend in the direction of the swarm, which would indicate a direction of spin. 

After four hours of constant pounding by the flying rocks, Blake asked, “How far are we in now?”

“I can't tell,” Tirren said. “We could be about halfway, but it's impossible to tell. The detectors have been swamped for three hours now.”

“The force wall is eating into our power reserves,” Gan said. 

“Blake, I think we should reconsider,” Tirren said. “I've been looking at the data the detectors can give me, and I think we're somewhere very dangerous.”

“It's a meteor swarm,” Vila commented, “how much more dangerous can you get?” 

“I don't think it's just any meteor swarm,” Tirren said. “I think we're in the beginnings of a solar system. All of this matter is starting to collapse into a star, and maybe a few planets. There's a definite spin to the lot of it, and I suspect the field has something of a disc shape, but it's impossible to get the data to confirm this from where we are.”

“Oh wonderful,” Vila said. “So what does that mean?”

“It means it's going to get worse before it gets better,” Jenna said. “And it means this field drag we're fighting is going to get stronger.”

“We keep going,” Blake said. “We have a job to do. Tirren, see whether you can find a safe way through the storm.”

Tirren sighed, and looked back down at her console. 

~

It was less than thirty minutes later when Zen notified them of something crucial.

“In one point zero three minutes it will no longer be possible to operate force wall and main drive simultaneously,” the computer said. “Please decide which to close down.”

“Without the main drive,” Jenna said, “we'll never get out of this.”

“Without the force wall,” Vila answered, “we'll be smashed to pieces.”

“Have the detectors located the edge of the swarm yet?” Blake asked.

“It's hard to tell,” Tirren said. “Which edge do you want? The top or the outer edge?”

“Which is nearest?” 

“Probably the top. That would be about two hundred spacials away.” 

“Oh no,” Vila said. 

“I've been thinking,” Tirren said, “and I think I know how we could reduce the possibility of damage as we run.”

“How?” Gan asked.

“Remember that web organism? I've been experimenting with it, and looking at the gas content of this cloud as well. If we drop a sample of the web, it'll grow fast enough in this swarm to snare up the rocks behind us, so we'll only have to worry about the ones in front.”

“Directive is now required,” Zen said.

“Jenna, stand by to feed all power through to the main drive when the force wall is down. Tirren, if you can drop some of that web stuff, do it, but otherwise, we take the shortest possible route out of here.”

“Ready,” Jenna said.

“Zen, release item fifty-seven from hold six,” Tirren instructed the computer.

“Gan, deactivate the force wall.”

“Deactivating,” Gan said.

The next thirty minutes were horrible. The _Liberator_ shook with the impacts of the smaller rocks, while Jenna had her hands full jinking and diving to miss the bigger ones. Tirren fought against the acceleration, sending information about meteor vectors to Jenna's console, and passing on course corrections, while Vila kept a wary eye on the rear detectors, just in case the Web organism grew quicker than planned. If _Liberator_ was caught by the Web as well, it would cause further delays.

In the course of their rapid exit, many things were knocked from their position. This included the case for the neutrotope, which slid from the table on the forward couches, and was then bounced about with each rapid change in direction. By the time they'd reached the clear space outside the swarm, Vila was looking very green indeed, and as soon as _Liberator_ 's flight path levelled out, he rushed from the flight deck.

Tirren hoped he'd reach the hygiene units before he threw up. 

Jenna leaned back from the controls, looking exhausted. “I need something to drink,” she said. “Anyone else for kaf?”

Tirren and Blake accepted the offer, and Gan agreed as well (a rare thing – Gan didn't like the taste of the kaf in _Liberator_ 's stores, and usually just stuck to water). While Jenna was fetching the kaf, Gan and Blake wandered around the flight deck, picking up things which had been knocked over, clearing up the breakages, and dealing with the chaos which had followed the mess. Tirren ran a systems check on the ship, and was relieved to find that the majority of the damage was minor, consisting of dents to the forward nacelles and a minor short circuit in the mid level lighting, all of which could be handled by the auto-repair systems.

Jenna returned with the kaf at about the same time Vila returned, looking pale and shaky. Tirren had decided to dig out some stims for the whole crew – they'd need them to get through the next stage of the journey – and issued these to each person, along with the kaf. It was only after all of this had been done that Gan and Blake reached the casket for the neutrotope.

“I hope nothing's been broken,” Gan said, looking at the casket.

“No breakages, but I don't think I feel very well,” Vila said. 

“We weren't talking about you,” Tirren said. 

Blake opened the box. It was empty. “It's still on the _Ortega_ ,” he exclaimed. “We have to get back there!”

“Now I know I don't feel well,” Vila muttered.

Tirren was looking thoughtful. “I think this is what Avon was referring to when he said something else had to happen.” She looked up at Blake. “We do have to get back to the _Ortega_. Avon and Cally are trapped there with a murderer.”

“What do you mean?” Blake asked. “I thought we'd decided it was Dortmunn.”

“No,” Tirren said. “Dortmunn was a red herring. I doubt there was anywhere in range of the life rockets in the first place. My suspicion is that Dortmunn is also dead, but his body was sent off in a life rocket to act as a diversion.”

“So who do you think it is?” Blake asked. 

“Sara.”

“Sara? Why her?”

“She's the only other person beside Dr Kendall who had access to the neutrotope,” Tirren said. “He sent her to get it, remember? She would have had an adequate amount of time to hide it away somewhere, and pick it up later. Then she handed you the empty box, rather than Kendall, and given you've never held the combined weight of the box and the neutrotope, you didn't notice it was gone from the missing weight.”

“But she's only small. How could she have killed the pilot?” 

Tirren looked at Blake in annoyance. “Sonovapour. She knocked them all out with sonovapour in the air supply. It would have been easy to kill someone if they were out cold. In any case, that console was smashed; it doesn't take much strength to club someone to death – just enough to raise the club and let gravity do the rest.”

“We'll have to go on a slightly different route,” Jenna said, cutting into the conversation. “We've no power reserves left for the force wall. According to Zen, if we go around the outside of the swarm at Standard by eight, we'll be able to get back to the _Ortega_ in about another six hours.”

“Do it,” Blake said. “We have to get there as soon as possible. Tirren, if you're right, we've left Avon and Cally in terrible danger. You'd better get back to your console – we're going to need to shave as much time as possible off our course, and that'll mean getting very close to the edge of that swarm.”

Vila looked even more nauseous. “Oh no.”

~

About four hours into the return journey, Tirren received a notification on her console from the laboratory computer systems. They'd continued with the analysis she'd requested, although it had been at a far slower pace, due to the lock down, and it was now complete. As she'd suspected, the markers were there. The fungus had been produced in a Federation biolab. 

She passed the information on to the others. “It looks like this was going to be a trick by the Federation to try and blackmail the people of Destiny into submission,” she said. “The mission of the _Ortega_ must have come as a surprise. I suspect Sara has a buyer for the neutrotope lined up, and they're coming to collect it.”

“The reason for the orbiting flight pattern,” Blake said. 

“Exactly. I also suspect the buyer would be Federation in origin – each neutrotope is custom-designed and calibrated to a specific set of wavelengths. It wouldn't be of any use to anyone else, despite what Mandrian thought.”

“I wonder whether Mandrian knew what Sara was doing?”

“I doubt it,” Tirren said. “He seemed very committed to the mission of the _Ortega_. He wouldn't agree to something like this.”

“But he didn't want us to take the neutrotope. He might've been in on it,” Blake said.

“No,” Tirren answered. “He looked angry at Sara, but not shocked. He would've been shocked if he'd known her plans, and he would've taken the time to question her. He would certainly have left the room through the same door as she did.”

“But couldn't he meet up with her later?”

In reply, Tirren pulled out her palmtop, and brought up the display of the internal layout of the _Ortega_. “Sara left through this door,” she said, pointing. “Mandrian left through this one.” The map was clear – there wasn't a way that Mandrian could have met up with Sara in the time available. The door that Sara had taken led directly to the crew quarters, while Mandrian had exited through a service door which led into a corridor which wound a tortuous path around the exterior of the ship toward the hatches and the engine room. 

“So it was Sara acting on her own,” Blake said. 

“It was definitely Sara,” Tirren said. “Whether she was acting on her own is another matter. All we can reasonably prove is that she wasn't acting in concert with Mandrian.”

~

By the time the Liberator was starting to reach the approximate area of the _Ortega_ 's orbit, the stims and the kaf were starting to wear off. Thus it took Tirren two glances to realise there was something else out there. 

“Zen, bring up visual of the _Ortega_ ,” she said.

“Confirmed,” the computer replied, putting the display up on the screen. 

“There she is,” Vila said. 

“How long before we reach teleport range?” Blake asked.

“Twenty-three point one six minutes,” Zen answered.

“That's not why I asked for it,” Tirren said. “We're getting another reading, look.” She pointed to the second reading which was coming in at a tangent to the _Ortega_. 

“Another ship,” Jenna said.

“It must be coming to collect the neutrotope,” Blake said. “Zen, can we get there first?”

“ _Liberator_ will be in teleport range three minutes before the unidentified ship makes contact with the _Ortega_.”

“Good,” Blake said. 

“Zen, gather all available information about that ship,” Jenna said. “I want to know what we're going to have to outrun if things get bad.”

“Confirmed,” Zen said. 

“Oh, I think we can come up with a little something to make things difficult,” Tirren said. “Give me a few minutes in the stores.”

~

When they teleported aboard the _Ortega_ , it was to find the crew (minus Mandrian) assembled in the main room, and Sara under heavy guard, with the neutrotope on the table before her.

“You're going to be boarded in three minutes,” Tirren said. “Here, put these on.” She handed around the brace of teleport bracelets she'd gathered, while Blake raced up the service corridor. Then she scooped up the neutrotope and put it into the casket, handing the casket to Dr Kendall to hold. 

As was to be expected, there was an outcry from Sara about the whole thing, particularly about putting on a teleport bracelet. She ripped the bracelet from her wrist and threw it across the room. “I won't,” she yelled.

Tirren slapped her again, and clamped another bracelet around her wrist. “You will,” she said. As Blake raced back into the room, she nodded to Avon. 

“Bring us up,” Avon said into his bracelet. The _Ortega_ shimmered again.

Once aboard the _Liberator_ , Tirren and Cally took Sara to a spare cabin, and locked her in. Vila had followed them, and made certain the lock was secure. After all, as he said, if he couldn't open it, it was unlikely Sara would be able to.

The rest of the crew and passengers of the _Ortega_ were taken to the flight deck, where they were seated on the forward couches. They'd arrived just in time. The second ship had locked on, and docked. Then there was a burst of energy.

“What was that?” Dr Kendall asked.

“I rigged a charge on the entry hatch,” Blake said. “Right, I think we can get you all home now. Zen, set a course for Destiny, speed standard by six.”

“Take us round the easy way this time,” Vila said.


End file.
